Long Kiss Goodnight
by mint repeat
Summary: She was still one classy dame. Joe/Macy. JONAS. AU.


Dedicated to **Hey-Hayley** because I got the idea when I was reading one of her fics, '**All's Fair in Love and War**', specifically this one line which is what sparked this off.

"And when one wants danger, who you gonna call?"

So yeah, thank you for the awesome writing which was the muse. :)

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**Long Kiss Goodnight.**

//

"Loneliness has followed me my whole life, everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man." **Travis Bickle - Taxi Driver.**

//

_The man in the trench coat drew out his gun, his hand shaking as he pressed the trigger. The man in front of him laughed, a devil may care smile prominent on his face, even in the pouring rain._

_The man in the trench coat strengthened his grip on the trigger before nodding ever so slightly. Of course this is how it was going to end. And he had a job to do._

_He released the trigger and the laughing man fell down, his face bared in the rictus of a now horrific smile._

_And the blood, the blood gushed onto the ground, before mingling with the rainwater and diluting away into the ditches. _

_And that is how it ended._

//

The rain was coming down pretty heavy and from my shuttered window all I could see where the denizens of Downtown scurrying away, trying to escape the heavy rain. These people were the ones who were here everyday, transacting their business. But today the rain put paid to that.

My offices were in the seediest part of downtown. When you begin to think like a thug—and in my line of work you often had to, you kind of began imbuing their characteristics too. My business I conducted in a drab and dreary office, and in a place that no gentile would ever set foot in. But then there were those gentiles who were desperate enough to require my services that they would come all the way here, holding their noses and talking casually to me like they didn't give a shit when in reality they were shitting bricks.

But I showed no pity because it was not my job to do that. And the worst part was, I didn't even feel it no more. If there was one thing my many years on the street as a private eye had taught me was, it was that rich people got into whatever trouble they were in the first place only because they were stupid enough to pay no attention to what they were doing.

The first few times I was sympathetic. What can I say? I was a naïve guy and new to the business. But after a period of time in which I had come across every example of stupidity and sin that existed, I lost my pity.

These folk had so much that us ordinary folk didn't have. Yet they couldn't even keep their own affairs in order. Missing necklaces, blackmailing whores, blackmailing gigolos because men weren't the only ones who strayed, illegitimate kids, mistresses, run ins with the mafia, I had seen it all and nothing would surprise me no more.

In fact, it all wearied me. Because nothing was more annoying than cleaning up the stupidity of moneyed folks that had no right to those many riches in the first place. There were the other folks too, the sound practical ones who knew the worth of what they had, but they were a rare breed and their indirections if any were trivial.

But I needed to make a living, and with an ample helping of rye and cigarettes, I got through.

My name was Joe Lucas, private eye and only occupant in the office of Jonas Inc, other than my secretary Stella Malone.

I survived on a diet of mostly cigarettes and shots of rye

The 1940's weren't too kind to most people who had seen both the wars, yet I managed, my wage paid by those who I despised. I thought I had seen it all and that nothing would pierce this armor of mine until one fine rainy evening, this lady walked in.

Masiella Misa was her name.

And she would forever remain imprinted in my memory.

//

I was debating this evening whether I should have left along with Stella, because the rain seemed to be coming down pretty heavy and in that case, there would be no one requiring my services. However it was of no use because I had already made Stella leave before me because I couldn't compromise on her safety with where we worked and while I could handle myself, I doubted Stella's mother would approve of me getting her daughter into trouble when I had no doubt that Stella COULD and WOULD handle herself. That girl had a mean right hook.

I should know. I had been on the receiving end of it once.

Actually that is how I met Stella or as I called her Kid.

I maybe a cynical guy but there was one thing I couldn't stand and that was guys picking on dames. Maybe I was cynical but I was still a chivalrous guy because that was the way my Mama brought me up.

So one evening I was going back to my place when I saw this thug jump on Stella who was waiting at the bus stand. There was no one around and I ran to help her except by the time I reached her, she had the guy down and begging for mercy as she drove the heel of her shoe into his gut.

And then she saw me running and without even thinking, she swung her hand into the left side of my face, and then kneed me in the groin.

Of course once I explained the situation she was very polite but slightly critical and that's when, well actually over a drink at Pete's nearby I hired her. Turned out she was sharper than a fine needle and could sass back when needed and to top it all, people who came to my office knew not to mess with her or at least learned not to. She could quickly put anyone in place with her sharp tongue and men learnt NOT to get frisky with her.

That was five years ago and today, Stella was still with me, sassy as ever with a spitfire temper to match. Early on there had been some tension between us but I had disabused her of that notion quickly. I wasn't the guy for her, with all of my stunning lack of brevity and unusual amount of bitter candor and in due course of time, Stella found someone else, this man called Kevin. Looking at him, the shy unassuming kind of guy that he was, and I knew him because he was the bartender at Pete's , one would have hardly thought that he was the right kind of guy for Stella. Actually he was. He could calm her when no one else could and he'd never get annoyed by her temper tantrums. He wasn't a naive guy but he was pretty much at peace with the world. He was the perfect guy for her and Stella adored him and I knew for a fact that he was going to ask for Stella's hand soon. And I had already given them blessings way back because Stella was something of a little sister to me. A tart but loving sister all the same.

I would see my best secretary go but ah well, everybody had to make a life for themselves and not everyone was content to be like me, wallowing in my shots of sour rye.

I was just about to have my customary glass when the doors opened. I knew it because even though I was inside my office, I could hear the tinkling of the little bell which was above the door and announced the arrival of people. I frowned and slipped back the bottle into my desk drawer.

Eight o'clock in was not an odd hour to meet me, in fact most of my meetings with prospective clients happened after seven o'clock but somebody had braved the pouring rain to see me.

A knock sounded on my door and I called out to the person to enter. The door opened and in entered a lady, dressed in what was nowadays deemed as 'fashionable'. Everything was superbly cut and styled and there was not a speck of water on her, or mud on her either.

My guess was this, she was a rich dame. It was a pretty easy guess to make.

But she wasn't just any old rich dame.

She was young and beautiful and her eyes were a cool and calculating brown, something I could make out even in the dingy light of my office. She was obviously a lady of quality, because everything about her screamed old respectable money, but she was also intelligent.

And that wasn't something that occurred very frequently.

I was about to stand up and greet her but with a gentle wave of her gloved hand, she dismissed my need to do so and instead sat down on the chair and removed her toque hat and placed it on the table along with her purse.

Her hair was dressed in smooth and shiny waves, and the little light that was there in the office was casting a soft glow on it. I waited for her to speak because it had become apparent to me that this was a woman who did things her own way, and in a manner of speaking, she intrigued me, sparking alive my until now jaded palate.

"Mr. Lucas isn't it?" I nodded and she continued. "I am terribly sorry to intrude upon you like this but the situation I am presently in doesn't give me the luxury for these niceties. In fact, I am afraid that time is of the essence here." She spoke quickly but her voice was well-modulated and there was not a hint of panic even though what I inferred from the situation led me to guess that it wasn't very nice and it chafed against her sense of being and freedom.

But even before I knew her name, I knew I wouldn't refuse her. I couldn't refuse her. I always was a sucker for dames in trouble. Especially classy intelligent dames in trouble.

"Please continue."

"My name is Masiella Misa and my husband was a part of the Marone crime syndicate. But he's dead now because he turned his back on them at the last moment and refused to wipe out a crucial witness's family. However it appears that they weren't content with stopping at him. Now they have my son. Some twisted form of exacting revenge."

She slid a photo across to me and I picked it up. It was the photo of a young boy with a head of curls and a mischievous smile and as she took her hand back, it shook slightly, the only trace of emotion she had betrayed so far. I looked at her thoughtfully, wondering how someone like her had gotten married to someone in the Italian mafia.

They were bat-shit crazy so to speak. Loyalty was favoured but people were expendable. It was their way.

"My husband was a good man Mr. Lucas. He may have worked for the mafia but he was a good man and did well by us. We loved him and he loved us and his job was secondary to our happiness."

In a split second she had picked up on my train of thought and completely set me right. I was surprised to admit to myself privately that it had been a little rude of me to assume and presume.

"I am sure he was," I murmured noncommittally and her eyebrow lifted fractionally in challenge but she let it pass.

"I'm sure you understand that I would like my son returned to me and in return, you will be handsomely compensated."

"I didn't agree as yet," I pointed out neutrally, my hackles somewhat rising. It was like she was challenging me at every turn and I didn't like being beaten at challenges. I liked winning them.

"Well you wouldn't have allowed to me to continue on in this vein if you hadn't made up your mind, would you?" She was now amused and her tone was laced with the slightest hint of sarcasm.

"You have a point, "I conceded, a trifle put out.

"Well then Mr. Lucas, I'm afraid I will have to leave now. But any news about my son would be very much appreciated. Here's my telephone number." She wanted to say something more but she was hesitating and I could see that.

Her voice wavered as she said what she wanted. "Please find my son, alive and...well. He's just a young boy and he...he's the centre of my world." I looked at the photo again and the boy seemed to look back at me, his smile vaguely reminiscent of something or someone I had already seen. However I couldn't place him and I nodded up at her. She shook my hand, and then I got a look at her face.

Her eyes were shining brightly with unshed tears but before I could respond or even say anything, she was gone, just leaving the scent of roses in her wake.

Sweet and _sharp_.

//

The next one week was an absolute mess. Let me tell you something. There's nothing worse than trying to tail a crime syndicate. Especially one as big as the Marone family. The head of the family was the capo di tutti capi, the boss of all bosses meaning that all the other small time crime families in Downtown came under his thumb.

There were enforcers everywhere and it took all my cunning not to have my head smashed into my skull. However for every enforcer willing to beat the shit out of you, there were always associates—who were considered nothing better than pawns—who were willing to squeal so that they could steal a piece of the limelight.

And as always, a drink could get you anything.

And that's how I found one of them, in a bar in downtown. It was obviously run by someone who owed some blood money to the mafia because the bar was packed to the brim with thugs of all shapes and sizes. But just to my luck, I found a piece of shit willing to talk after I paid for his gin.

And talk he did and at length. After a careful amount of probing, I was able to squirrel out information from him. I took out a picture of the boy and showed it to him and at once his eyes grew large with realization. And then he shut up because he knew he had spoken too much. He tried to weasel his way out but I didn't let him go until I got the location of the boy out of him. After that he made a run for it, probably to leave the country because once the mob got wind of his deception, they would be onto him like hunters on their prey. And then they would systemically dismember him until there was no sign of his existence on earth. I knew this for a fact because I had seen it happen in front of my own eyes. I was just about to head out again, when my exit was blocked. I looked up to see a huge man looking down at me.

At once my heart started racing as the blood pounded through my ears. This was an enforcer and he had probably ferreted out the mole and was now going to do me in. I felt for my revolver and was glad of the comfort the cold hard steel offered me even though I knew that pulling it out and emptying the bullets would not be of much use.

I tried side stepping him but immediately a huge fist landed on my jaw, knocking out a tooth in the process. It had me spewing blood as I fell to the floor and after that everything was a blur. I was beaten again and again until I blacked out and when I woke up much later on, I was lying in front of my office, with my body screaming in pain.

My eyes tore open and I struggled to sit up but couldn't do so. My body didn't have it in it to even get up and walk into the office to cleanse my wounds. Yet, I forced myself up and hobbled up the stairs, collapsing in front of Stella's desk. I somehow crawled and half-dragged myself to the medicine cabinet and with a good amount of alcohol, applied on the outside and consumed on the inside, I bandaged my wounds. The alcohol stung but it would act as an antiseptic and after I was done, I downed an aspirin or two with a shot of rye.

I then crawled underneath Stella's desk and lay there, falling into a fitful sleep and only waking up when Stella came in that morning and swore at the horrific state I was in.

She insisted on getting me to a hospital but I refused. I needed to get to Mrs. Misa and let her know about her son. She would be waiting and he was the centre of her universe. Stella grudgingly changed my bandages and fed me some food and coffee before finally allowing me to leave. Even when I was getting into the cab, I could sense the disapproval radiating off Stella in waves.

But I was a stubborn man.

Or just someone with a death wish.

More like the latter.

//

I arrived at Mrs. Misa house by around ten and I was let in by a butler who made known his disapproval with the slightest raising of one of his eyebrows. Nonetheless he led me into the drawing room and offered me refreshments which I refused and then when to get the lady of the house.

Throughout the week, I had spoken to Mrs. Misa on the telephone. But this was the first time I had come to her house. It was large and spacious and tastefully decorated. However there were signs of confinement all around. When I was coming up the road, there had been a few enforcers sitting around and watching the house, no doubt restricting her movements.

Just as I was looking at some pictures on the mantelpiece—they were all of her son—I heard the sound of heels clacking against the hardwood and I turned around to find Mrs. Misa hurrying down the stairs, a hopeful look on her face. However when it was only me who she saw and not her son, her hope died and it was like someone had switched off a light inside of her.

"I appreciate the sentiment behind coming here but really Mr. Lucas, shouldn't you go to the Hospital first? And is there anything I can do to make you comfortable?"

For a moment the mask had slipped off but just as quickly it had slipped back on. And one thing which had already struck me once before struck me again with renewed force. Mrs. Misa was a woman of strong character. Maybe life as such had let her down, but even if she felt the pinch rather badly, she didn't let it show. At least she didn't let it control her.

It was hard not to admire her.

I waved away her offer even though I could have done with a good solid shot of anything strong to keep the pain at bay. Instead I sat down and quickly relayed everything to her. After my intrusion, it was my belief that things would go downhill for the boy from there. And this very same thought seemed to be occurring her to her with sickening frequency too.

After I was done, she watched me stony-faced silence for a moment before quietly breaking down.

I didn't know what to do as her slight shoulders shook as she cried into her hands. Her distress was so palpable that it touched a chord in me. It brought out an emotion I didn't know I could feel anymore.

Sympathy and maybe love.

Not knowing what to do, I just sat there and watched her cry, my resolve only growing stronger with each tear she shed. I would find her boy and bring him back to her, even if it cost me my life.

I left her soon afterwards knowing that while I was useless at providing comfort, I would be much better at doing my job.

//

The next few days, I worked like a man on fire, my aches and pains not withstanding.

I _had _to find the boy. There was no other go around it.

//

I called in every contact and favour I had and in the end; I was able to get the boy back. But in the process, my knee got shot, shattering the kneecap. We barely made it out alive but we did.

The boy—Frankie was his name was a brave little fella and did everything I asked him too. After busting him out, I set the police on the mafia's tail. Heads wouldn't roll as such but there would be a new boss and everything in the organization would be rudely shaken up.

I restored the boy to his mother and the reunion between them touched even my jaded heart. There was a part of me that looked on wistfully at the scene. That was what I wanted and craved and desired. A family and someone to love and a little boy to teach baseball and a little girl to coo over.

I was watching from a distance but soon enough Mrs. Misa came over, her boy held tightly to her side.

"I am so sorry for your loss Mr. Lucas but you have my eternal gratitude for bringing back my Frankie back to me." She turned and dropped a kiss on her son's head before smiling at me again.

"Just doing my job," I said raising my hat and then bidding goodbye, I walked away.

//

Something which had been nagging me about the boy until now finally made sense. I now knew why he looked familiar.

Five years ago, there had been a man. A man who I had shot down when I saw him run in the opposite direction after I heard gunshots echo through a house. I chased the man down in the pouring rain and shot him down, without even giving him a chance to explain.

It seemed simple enough at that time. A murderer deserved to die.

But too late I discovered the man was not a murderer. In fact he set up the scene of a murder so that a family on the run could escape.

I shot down a defenseless man.

I shot down, Nick Misa, the sotto capo of the Marone family. The second in command and an _honest_ family man.

I shot down Nick Misa, Mrs. Misa's husband and Frankie's father.

It had been the worst mistake of my life.

//

It was once again raining and I was the only in the office, sitting and nursing a glass of rye.

The bell above the door tinkled and the scent of roses wafted in. I knew who it was.

She came in and sat down, as calmly as before, her face betraying nothing.

"I see you figured out my husband's identity."

As always she went straight to the point.

"So why the whole set-up? Why not call me out and do it promptly?"

It was time for me to be straightforward too.

"_Because_, revenge is a powerful emotion Mr. Lucas. Surely you know that. You stole my husband from me and they had him marked down from the start. Still he tried to do good, because he loved us and cared for us and he wanted us to be safe." She looked me straight in the eye, even though she had just admitted that the whole thing had been a ruse from the start. A plot to kill me and bring down the Marone family. She had accomplished one and she had partially accomplished another. I would limp for the rest of my life.

But revenge was something I could understand.

"I love you." I said quietly. I didn't care about the fact that she tried to just have me killed. But I escaped, because maybe it was fate. And I loved her. Plain and simple.

"And I love my son and _still_ love my husband." She stood up and left a wad of money on the table. And then she came around the table and gave me a slow sweet kiss on the lips. Something like honey sweet poison, leaving you wanting more even though it would eat you away from the inside.

"Goodnight Mr. Lucas," she murmured softly, her hand grazing against my cheek before she left me to my rye and self-reflections.

Women would come and go but there would be only one woman for me.

_The dame who tried to kill me._

//

" You'll always be mine, always and never. Never. The Fire, baby. It'll burn us both. It'll kill us both. There's no place in this world for our kind of fire. Always and never." **Dwight McCarthy, The Big Fat Kill, Sin City.**

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Ta-da! And that was my lame attempt at film noir fiction. Disclaimer - JONAS dosent belong to me and the title is courtesy of this movie called 'The Long Kiss Goodnight'. I removed the, 'the' but it still dosent belong to me. I just thought it was fitting for this fic.

Just a small definition.

Noir - Film noir is a cinematic term used primarily to describe stylish Hollywood crime dramas, particularly those that emphasize cynical attitudes. In the story, Joe is of course the cynical detective and Macy is the femme fatale, though I don't think I managed to make her quite that way. Yeah, those two tropes and bleak narratives are standbys of film noir. You can look up more about it on Wikipedia if you want to because it is really a very interesting concept, stylistically film wise speaking and even to just watch.

I wanted to do all of that and base it on these movies I've seen in Film Theory class. I don't know if I accomplished it but I think this is one of the most fun things I have ever written because it made think HARD.

Hope you liked it. :)


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